


Can't Stop Won't Stop

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Saiyuki, Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: saiyuki_wk_au, Crossover, M/M, Multi, Rock Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad Crawford and Cho Hakkai-- of the pop/techno duo CraCho-- meet some unusual groupies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Stop Won't Stop

Cho didn't fuck groupies.  


He had at first; there'd been so _many_ of them, and they'd been so pliant and willing it had seemed like an excellent activity. And it had been, for a while, until the novelty had worn off and some of the faces had gotten disturbingly familiar.  
Crawford had followed much the same path: novelty, boredom, monotony, abstinence. Still, the after-show parties were always interesting, and it gave them a chance to see what was new, what was interesting, what might be coming up next.  


Cho had pulled his jacket and sunglasses off-- they felt too much like the performer, not the man, to be comfortable backstage-- and had his glasses in his hand as he swung back into the main room of the suite.  


"There's this new act I like," one of the girls was saying to their technical producer. "They work together, like CraCho, but they're a lot looser, more hip-hop." She leaned in. "Cute, too."  


"Yeah?" He leaned in; Cho grinned. Jun was definitely hoping to get lucky tonight. The girl seemed less drunk and significantly less lonely and desperate than many-- too many-- of the people Cho'd been with in his career. "Tell me more."  


"Their name's Wu. Guess they're from Hong Kong? There's Trip, and he's blond and so hot, you have no idea, and then--"  


Someone jostled his shoulder, and Cho felt the glasses in his hand clatter to the floor. He cursed and got down on his hands and knees. His distance vision was adequate, but his glasses were thin wireframes, and hard to see in the dim light and chaos of a room full of crew and groupies.  


"You okay?" a voice said above him, just as he snagged his glasses with a finger.  


"Yes, I've just--" He looked up. The first thing that met his eyes was bright purple vinyl.  


The vinyl belonged to an _extremely_ tight pair of pants, and the pair of pants belonged to a very attractive man. He had long, dark red hair, almost the color of blood, and dark eyes; Cho couldn't determine the exact shade in the low light. The man extended a hand.  


"Thank you," Cho said, and took it, using the offered weight to pull himself up. He slid his glasses on his face. The man looked even better when he was in focus, sharp cheekbones and pretty mouth.  


"Nice to meet ya," he said. "Name's Gojyo. Nice work tonight."  


Cho smiled. It had been a good concert; the crowd was responsive, and they'd fed off the energy, working together to create something in performance they'd never been able to capture in the studio. Jun had grinned at him when they'd gotten offstage and showed him the first Tweets: _Best. Concert. Ever. Cho's the hottest! Live version of Blood&amp;Iron - AMAZING OMG._ The next gig, in Munich, would likely be sold out. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, keeping his voice positive, but neutral.  


"I came with my friend." Gojyo nodded in the direction of the crowd around Crawford. "We heard you guys were great live."  


Cho smiled. "Are we?"  


"Yeah." His smile was gentle and easy. "Think we'll pick you up in Munich, too."  


"We?"  


"We travel around, follow acts. We were runnin' with Snaketooth for a while, but--" He shrugged. "You know."  


Cho searched his immediate memory and found _on-stage meltdown._ "Ah, yes, the singer's in rehab now, isn't he?"  


"Yeah," Gojyo said. "Wasn't pretty. We weren't that attached to the band; they had good fans, though. Friendly. Lots of cash."  


Cho raised an eyebrow.  


"My friend tells fortunes," Gojyo said in explanation. "We gotta eat somehow, right? And I'm a massage therapist. A real one, got my certification and everything. I usually do chair massages, but I keep my table around just in case." He shrugged. "You do chair massages, twenty-thirty bucks a pop, it's enough to keep you going."  


"So you travel around...giving massages?"  


"I'm not a whore," he said, withdrawing a little, his eyes darkening further. "Like I said. I got my certification."  


Cho hadn't meant to imply anything, but watching Gojyo move back from him was something of a relief. He didn't want this; he'd given up the groupie scene a long time ago. "Well," he said awkwardly. "I wish you the best."  


He heard Gojyo mutter, "Yeah, thanks," as he walked away.

When Cho left his bedroom the next morning, there was a redhead sitting on the floor of the suite. His hair was more orange than the young man of the night before's; his face harder, crueler. He put his finger to his lips to shush Cho.  


Cho frowned at him in irritation, then realized the reason behind the gesture; Crawford was in the center of the common room, his lanky frame stretched over...a portable massage table. Gojyo was leaning over the table, leaning into Crawford's body. "Take a breath already," he said, gently, smoothly. He dug his fingers deeply into Crawford's shoulders. "The whole point is you're supposed to be relaxing."  


"That's _after_ a blowjob," the new redhead noted. "And what we did last night."  


"Yeah, I'm sure that's gonna help him relax," Gojyo said, rolling his eyes in reply. His body language was as easy and relaxed as it had been the night before. Cho watched for a moment as Gojyo's large, graceful hands covered Crawford's shoulders; then he walked quietly into the bathroom.  


He took his time, showering until his fingers wrinkled; he didn't want to face Gojyo again. He brushed his teeth with extra care.  


They were still there when he got out, but Crawford was dressed, sitting on the couch with a glass of water, and Gojyo was packing his massage table.

"I'm hungry," the new redhead said. He was still crouched on the floor, looking feral. "You wanna come out with us?"  


"We could order room service," Crawford offered, spreading his legs out.  


"We have to pack up," Cho said abruptly. "Jin will be waiting for us."  


"Then we'll catch you in Munich," Crawford continued, looking straight at the redhead; Cho still hadn't gotten his name. Crawford got off the couch and crossed the floor in a few long strides as the redhead got up. They kissed, Crawford pushing the redhead back hard against the wall, and Cho looked away.  


"Be seein' ya," Gojyo said, and Cho heard the door close.  


Schuldig cackled like a madman. "I love this drive," he said with relish, as the car careened around another of the Autobahn's wide turns. At this time of day, it wasn't too busy, and Schuldig could really keep the pedal down and let the Opel fly. He was even more manic than usual today.  


"Good night, huh?" Gojyo said, already knowing the answer.  


"He's hard to read," Schuldig said cheerfully, wiggling a little in the seat as he rounded another curve. "Got the better of me once."  
Schuldig claimed his Roma grandmother had given him psychic powers; Gojyo considered that to be a crock of shit-- the psychic powers part anyway-- but the man _was_ remarkably good at reading people. Finding someone he couldn't easily manipulate was something of a Holy Grail. No wonder he was flying down the highway like he'd just won the lottery.  


"What happened with you and Cho?" Schuldig asked, and Gojyo winced out of reflex. "Saw you talking with him."  
Gojyo shrugged. "He's kind of an asshole," he said, sounding lame even to himself. He took another steady drag on his cigarette.  


"You still want him."  


Gojyo waved Schuldig off with his free hand. He did. Didn't mean he had to feel good about it, though; the man had stopped just short of calling him a whore. He closed his eyes and blew out the smoke, feeling the car's dodgy body shudder.  


"Just fuck him in Munich," Schuldig advised, as he slid out past a sluggish truck. "Get it out of your system."  


"What about you?" Gojyo asked. "You gonna get it out of _your_ system?"  
Schuldig's eyes went distant for a moment. "I don't know," he said. He forgot to signal when they switched lanes, and the car behind them leaned on the horn. Gojyo held his middle finger up, gesturing backward.  


He'd been running around with Schuldig for almost three years; they'd both been there when the lead singer of Snakegrass melted down on stage, had double-teamed the bassist of Wet Mouth, worked their way through every member of their favorite all-girl group. It'd been a pretty good run, despite his growing conviction that his best friend was something of a sociopath.  


"I'm gonna change my hair before Munich," Gojyo announced. "Let's see if Cho recognizes me." _Like a test, maybe,_ he thought.  


"You're still gonna want to fuck him," Schuldig said. "Either way."  


Gojyo didn't want to think about that.

"If I have to continue listening," Jin announced, "to the two of you discussing the ethics of _sex with groupies_ for the rest of this trip, you can take a taxi to Munich."  


"We're not arguing," Crawford insisted. "You of all people should know that." The last time they'd really argued, Jin was the one who had to talk to the detectives and assure them what had happened was merely a case of rock n' roll high spirits. This was just a difference of opinion. He was damned if he could determine why Cho was so _adamant_ about it all, though. Usually he followed Crawford's sex life with the disinterested eye of an anthropologist. That other redhead-- Gojyo, the massage therapist-- must've made some kind of impact.  


He certainly had talented hands; between the massage and the sex, Crawford's spine hadn't felt better in years. He might give up acupuncture and replace it with blowjobs from pretty redheads.  


"Not to mention our reputation," Cho continued, "it's not like it was in the early days. Now if we make asses of ourselves in public, TMZ.com is more than happy to share our follies with the rest of the world. If they find out you're favoring men--"  


"I haven't _favored_ anyone in years," Crawford retorted. He'd lived like a monk for most of his musical career-- well, a monk who drank, went to after-concert parties, and had amassed a vast amount of wealth-- but a celibate one, at any rate. "You're being ridiculous, and I'm not going to discuss this further."  


"When we're dropped from our label, I'll remember how _reasonable_ you were," Cho groused, but he opened his laptop and stopped haranguing.  
Crawford closed his eyes. There was absolutely no reason to trust a ragged, sharp-tongued German who called himself _Guilty,_ but Crawford still found himself wanting to see the man again. He certainly made attractive arm candy, despite dressing like an exotic dancer after a wardrobe-thinning robbery. Those arresting blue eyes....  


He suppressed a shudder of memory and turned his attention to the road. They'd be in Munich soon; the show was sold out. He wondered what row Schuldig would be in. At the next after-party he'd have to give the man his number. Cho could complain all he wanted; Crawford was only human, and no amount of pressure from the label could change his sexuality. Cho played for both teams and had it easier in that respect, though he'd be the last to admit it.  
Jin glanced back at them both, clearly relieved that the debate-- such as it was-- was over.

The thing was, Schuldig didn't really want to give a shit about who Gojyo fucked. But CraCho was a good gig; generous fans, an act they actually _liked,_ and....  


And Brad Crawford. Who took off his glasses and looked up at Schuldig like he wasn't impressed. Crawford who he couldn't predict or goad into doing what he wanted. Crawford who'd made him come so hard he thought his brains were going to start leaking out of his ears.  
And he and Gojyo had had a good thing; no bullshit, just a companion and the occasional handjob to take the edge off when things were running dry. It was good, and it was easy, and all he had to do to have his cake and eat it too was to get Cho to realize what a fine piece of ass Sha Gojyo was.  


How hard could it be?  


The concert had gone well-- Schuldig had known it would from the way the Berlin crowd ate them up-- and Crawford's head roadie, the serious-looking one with the white hair and freaky eyes, had given them one glance and waved them back.  
It was crowded and loud; the inevitable crush after a good show. Schuldig loved the energy. And there was Cho, in the corner, scanning the crowd with his eyes. They narrowed, just a little, when he saw Gojyo and Schuldig. Schuldig smiled his most feral smile, and Cho looked away. Schuldig craned up and found Gojyo's ear. "Don't screw it up by talking this time," he purred.  


Gojyo shoved him away, gently enough. But he walked over to Cho.  


Crawford caught Schuldig's eye across the room, and Schuldig felt the electric shock down his spine.  


Cho and Gojyo would have to get their shit together on their own. Schuldig had plans for the night.


End file.
